A shrivelling soul frantic searching shrouds
Slim pickings on a night of unrest
The last clue in direction
For gnawing fears at the cycle of life
Closing in on itself and the soul inside
This too shall pass, out in curious crowds
Yet the back to the wall that shouldn’t be there
Afraid, afraid, of nothing to be scared
This too shall be, when its all for the best
This too shall rest on the usual suspects
Please sir, can I have, one more buried chest?